


What is There to Talk about?

by isaaclahey



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 21:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15203468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaaclahey/pseuds/isaaclahey
Summary: Foggy and Karen try to reconcile Matt's death.





	What is There to Talk about?

**Author's Note:**

> for shayna. It's about 5 years late. I didn't edit it. I just let it happen, which is I guess the best way to write.

She wouldn’t call it tradition—habitual perhaps, but absolutely necessary for her sanity. He’d place a ceramic cup, a cappuccino with whole milk—today’s design was leaves—in front of her and take a seat across for her. He’d make a careless observation—her hair was shorter—and then they’d avoid conversation. She’d work on her article—New Vigilante Prowls Hell’s Kitchen—and he would make notes on his case file. Romeo and Juliet Columbian Coffee was hardly ever silent—he claimed it was too hipster for his taste, but he always showed up—but the white noise helped them both work.

The habit kept them in each other’s stratosphere, it kept her from picking up the pack of menthols she kept in her purse, and he would ignore the calls from his ex-girlfriend. They’d exchange glances as they pulled away from their work. He liked to twirl his pens, it would coat his hands in black ink and leave smudges on the paper. Her notebooks always had a coffee ring, she thought of them as extensions of the meetings. A light brown reminder that at least once a week she’d smile for real. She’d feel comfortable and safe, if only for a moment.

Today, she watched him. He let the iced coffee he was drinking drip condensation on the paper. He had rolled up his dress shirt sleeves and loosened the tie. Droplets of sweat danced from his forehead to cheeks. The June heat had encroached their safe space. She tilted the screen of her computer down. She put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. His eyes flickered up to her a couple times. He let out a low laugh.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to get a drink tonight?”

He narrowed his eyes at her questions.

“I just figured—we could actually talk for once.”

She pulled herself back into the chair. Her hands went to her knees and she pulled anxiously at the navy blue pencil skirt.

“Not tonight, I—“

She could see the lies forming on his lips. His eyes darted between her and his work.

“I understand.”

She cut him off and let the short conversation fall into a flat silence. He offered a smile in apology and went back to the damp papers on the table. She just sucked in a breath. Her exhale came out as a sigh. The urge to push the matter burrowed in her stomach, but she chased it away with caffeine and the hushed conversation of the hipsters behind her.

He walked her to the cab and gave her a soft hug before taking off in the direction of the subway. She’d grown too weary for crowds and he preferred her method of transportation to the alternative. Called it a smart investment and even offered to cover the fees, when necessary.

She’d gotten used to comfortable awkwardness—she wished that they’d fall back into their friendly habits, but she knew they weren’t the people they were before. She just had to accept that her landscape might look the same, the shitty apartment with bullet holes covered with a fresh layer of putty and paint, but her world was different. She locked the door, every other one of the five, and kicked her heels off into a pile of shoes next to her dresser. The bra was next and narrowly made it into her laundry basket. Her messenger bag made it’s home on her table. She took a long look outside at the setting sun. The orange and pinks melted into the harsh concrete buildings. The golden hour reminded her why she stayed. The city was a peace she wished to find in herself.

The knock on her door startled her out of the daydream. She inhaled sharply and pulled the Glock out of her dresser. Her eye went to the peephole. He stood, suit jacket in over his forearm, the smile greeting her through the small glass. She tucked the gun into the waistband of her skirt and unlocked the door. She fell lazily into the doorframe.

He held up the bottle of whiskey.

“An apology.”

“For?”

“It’s been six months hasn’t it?”

He asked the question he already knew the answer too. She just nodded and pushed the door all the way open. He slid past her tossed the jacket on a chair. She closed the door and locked it again.

“Jesus, what’s with the piece?”

She just smirked and pushed past him to return it home.

“A gift from Frank.”

“I heard about that—I didn’t know you—“

She leaned against the dresser and offered a shrug.

“We don’t really talk.”

“No, we don’t—glasses?” He asked and placed the bottle on the coffee table.

She walked toward the kitchenette and pulled two plastic cups from the cabinet. She heard him kick off his shoes and toss his bag onto the ground. He sat on her couch and cracked the bottle open. She placed the glasses down and took a seat next to him. He poured them healthy servings and handed her one. They clinked the glasses.

“To Matt.” He said, his voice caught.

“To Matt.” She replied with the same crack in her voice.

The silence formed over them again. The darkness encroached her small studio. They drank and exchanged looks. Neither one of them knew what to say.

“Karen,” He said her name in a husky voice. He ran his hand harshly over the five o’clock shadow and then through his hair. She watched as they shook— his own sorrow and anxiety manifested. “I don’t know—“

“It’s like a hole.” She finished. She set the glass down and slid closer to him. “He was our secret and our glue.”

“Without him—I can’t talk about him and not—” He rambled on. The tears burned down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hands and gave her a sad smile. “Being around you feels wrong without him.”

She grabbed his hand and gave him a squeeze. “I know.”

He put his free hand on her cheek and rubbed away her own sadness. The conversation faltered with glances. The ghost of their past relationship, of Matt, of the life before Daredevil and superheroes haunted the room. It sent shivers up their spines and brought them closer.

“Foggy.” She breathed his name as the space between them grew smaller and the only light came from street lamps.

“Karen,” he repeated and shared her air.

She pushed herself into him gently. His lips danced over hers with fervor. She let herself melt into his warmth. Her hands knotted in his tie. His in the waves of her hair. She pinned him to the arm of the couch and straddled his lap.

She was aggressive.

He was gentle.

Both unwilling to compromise on control.

“We shouldn’t.” He pulled away and rested his lips on her chin. He let out a low chuckle as she groaned. “Karen,” He said her name like a secret.

“Foggy.” She said his like a demand. Her hands cradled his face, her fingers tangled in the long locks of his hair.

“We haven’t had a proper conversation in six months.” He held the small of her back, he looked up at her. Her eyes were glowing in the dim light from the moon and the cityscape behind them. They gave him a look—it said all she needed. This wasn’t a time for conversations.

He fought the moment, sitting in their anything but silence. The sounds of the world outside her window, the city talking about secrets it saw, their breath sitting in the air, her neighbors above shuffling through their own apartment.

She pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. She took a few sharp inhales. “So let’s converse.” She said in defeat.

Her breath smelled like the cheap whiskey. Her hair smelled like lavender and a long day. He inhaled and brought his lip to hers. He pulled his hand up and buried it in her hair. “Later” He whispered as her fingers tore off his tie. He avoided the conversation—she, a willing participant, indulged.


End file.
